


Maenad

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-30
Updated: 2006-03-30
Packaged: 2019-02-02 18:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12731877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Someone partakes too freely of the fruit of the vine; someone else pays the price.





	Maenad

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: none  


* * *

It is the time of new wine. We run the hills, throwing off our garments and our minds.

We are, I am, woman. Wild woman. Screaming woman. Maenad woman. We run the hills, drinking the new wine and laughing and screaming.

Far behind me are the things of my life. My sisters give me wrappings against the chill but I do not feel it, really. A buck breaks from the trees and we fall up on it, ripping and eating the steaming flesh. We howl, she-wolves in the moon light, howling a pack call to eat, to mate, to run.

The wine is sweet in my mouth. My head swims with it.

The hills are bright and dappled silver with the moon. A lyre plays, and a flute, and we dance as we run. Our shadows caper in the full moon's light, leaping and twirling. A jug of new wine is pressed to my lips and I drink thirstily, the red liquid warm as the buck's blood in my mouth. It overflows, spilling down my chest and then my sisters are upon me, pushing me down, licking me clean. The fallen rubies will not be wasted. 

I am warm, warm despite the chill, and filled with longing. I am not let up when I am clean. My sisters keep me on the ground, touching and stroking me and themselves. I cry out, in fear or in delight, and more wine is pressed to my lips. I drink deeply. All of the night is drinking deeply.

We run again, flesh pale and dark, hair fair and black. We are one mind, shrieking.

Words crowd my head, for the first time. Old words.

"First they let their hair fall loose, down  
over their shoulders, and those whose straps had slipped  
fastened their skins of fawn with writhing snakes  
that licked their cheeks. Breasts swollen with milk,  
new mothers who had left their babies behind at home  
nestled gazelles and young wolves in their arms,  
suckling them. Then they crowned their hair with leaves ..."

I shake my head. Leaves fly and I laugh at the moon.

A man is running the hills. With a howl, we run after. The wine is tart and sweet, as is his fear. We overtake him with a shout of triumph and bring him down.

He is soon as bare as we, pale in the night. The Maenad's howl and fall upon him, and I among them, ripping and tearing his clothing as he shouts, staring at me.

His mouth moves, and his eyes are so blue and so fearful wide. I hold my ground, listening, confused. Why does he say Sam. Sam? I brush my hand over his cheek and find it wet. Strange.

I laugh, then, and taste the salt on my fingers. My own face is wet and tastes of the sea. The man looks at me with sea-eyes and says Sam, Sam. I push my sisters away with a growl and they run, following the hills and the moon and the wine. They are Maenad, drunken wild wolf women, and they howl.

I howl with them, their echos dancing in the silvered light, and the man's eyes open wider. Sam, he says again. Jack is worried. We have to go back. The wine is drugged. I put my hand over his mouth, then my mouth over his mouth and I taste the sea once more. I push away the remains of his garment and let my hands drink their fill. He is as intoxicating as the wine. 

We are alone, we three. The man, the moon, and myself, alone in the still night. I grasp him, straddle him, and take him inside with a howl of triumph. This one is mine, I tell the heavens. His hands are pushing me away, but the Maenad will not be denied. I take my pleasure, giving pleasure, and we cry out as one, telling the cold stars above. I collapse beside him and cradle his head to my breast. Sam, he says. I cover his mouth with my hand again and curl into his warmth. The Maenad will be gone with the morning; time for talk is then. Now is time for sleep.


End file.
